The Chase
by RubyManhatten
Summary: My first Sherlock fic! John's fed up of being called 'the pet' and he's out to prove he's nobody's pet. But every action has an equal and opposite reaction. Sherlock and John non-slash. COMMENTS and REVIEWS are greatly received! Enjoy :
1. Chapter 1

The Chase

Chapter 1: The Beginning of the End

Author's Note: This is my first Sherlock fic, tell me how I do :) I'm still fairly new to fanfiction, so I'm really grateful for any kind of comment or review!

Love, Ruby xx

DISCLAIMER: I'm extremely disheartened at the fact that I do not own the master of deduction himself, or anything associated with him :(

Running, that's what he was doing. Trying to put as much distance between himself and the murderous madman chasing him, he really should've told Sherlock about this. Now he was running alone through the streets of London, not knowing where he was. His breathing was uneven and frantic, all because he wanted to prove to Moriarty that he wasn't Sherlock's pet. The dark night made every side street seem eternal and the main streets only illuminated by the solemn street lamps. The chaser was gaining ground, hunting him down like an advanced predator. John could here his heart thundering erratically through his chest; he'd taken a wrong turn to a dead end and there was no going back now...

Three days before...

There hadn't been a case in weeks leaving Sherlock's brain to rot, leading the detective into an irritable depression. He sat in the chair, gun in his left hand, fresh bullets in his right, just emptying the gun repeatedly into the unsuspecting living room wall. John was powerless to stop him, and he knew it; well, he could go out and commit murder, but that's a step too far. So he appologised repeatedly to both Mrs Hudson and the wall for Sherlock's less than sociable behaviour.

He was bored too though, so he couldn't really blame Sherlock who was naturally self destructive and anti-social anyway; he wouldn't go as far as saying he was a sociopath though, he had a feeling Moriarty was right.

"I'm going to burn you. I'm going to burn the heart right out of you."

"I have been reliably informed that I don't have one."

"Now we both know that's not quite true."

That little snippet of that night stuck in John's head. He knew Sherlock was difficult to get along with and took a very scientific view upon society, seeing it as only norms and social conventions which could be obeyed or ignored at will. But he wasn't the complete heartless bastard everybody claimed he was. There was a warmer side to Sherlock, one that laughed, smiled and cared. John feared that maybe he was the only one that ever saw that side of him.

"Alright Sherlock. That's enough shooting for now, forever in fact. If you keep going we're not going to have any bloody wall left!" John stated as he got up to confiscate the gun from Sherlock.

"I know what you we're thinking, John." he said calmly as the gun was removed from his possession. "I'm afraid to say yes, you are the only person who gets to see me with my guard down a little, and I don't intend to let it drop much farther." John's face fell at the latter part of his statement. "As for the rest of what you were thinking, you're the only person who's actually put up with me long enough to form any kind of bond with you." John wasn't exactly surprised at this though.

Sherlock's phone lit up for the first time in days then. He slowly leant over to the table to take a glance, normally it was just Molly asking where he was and giving him updates on when new bodies had arrived.

Got a weird one. 23 Milestone Lane. Looks right up your street freak. GL

It was always amusing when Sergent Donovan used DI Lastrade's phone to begrudgingly ask for 'freak's' help.

Sherlock lept to his feet with a slight smile on his lips and walked briskly to get his coat whilst saying, "That was Donovan, apparently it's 'right up my street'. You coming?" John didn't really need asking, he was already following Sherlock out of the door.

" 23 Milestone Lane." he told the driver as he navigated the busy London streets. "What?" John spluttered. "It's the address of the scene, John. Is something wrong?" the detective said as he studied his friend's face trying to determine the cause of sadness. "23 Milestone Lane is Sarah lives, Sherlock." his face went even whiter as he said those words. "I'm sure it's not what you think, John. Anyway, the victim probably has nothing in connection with the location they found the body, Donovan said they we're 'dumbfounded', indicating that it really is an interesting one." Sherlock said, frantically trying to soothe his comrade. "Would it still be just as interesting if it WAS Sarah's body there Sherlock?" John added with a hint of venom in his voice. "No, John, it would be horrifying." he paused, trying to gather anything that might help. "it would be horrifying, John, because you'd be very upset, just like you are now. Rather prematurely though, we haven't even reached the destination yet." John shot Sherlock a warning glare that was quickly recieved by the detective. The rest of the journey was spent in silence.

When they arrived at the crime scene, John was a wreck. He followed Sherlock into the room with the body and debated whether or not to even look. It seemed, however, that the body was not that of Sarah, but of another familiar face that John couldn't quite put a name to. "Oi, freak! Nice of you to turn up." said Donovan with a snarl, "We don't know who he is yet, and Lastrade's gone -"

"Home, yes, I know. His wife's got the flu and his son's coming down with it too. Thank you Sally. As for the ID, I can help with that. His name's Sebastian, we went to university together. He hired John and I a couple of months back to work a case involving smuggling and graffiti. Do you remember John?" he said as he turned to his collegue who had just about got it clear in his head that it wasn't actually Sarah lying on the floor surrounded by blood in a small dark room. That left one question, where was she? 


	2. Chapter 2

The Chase

Chapter 2:All's Fair In Love And War

Author's Note: This chapter really took an unexpected turn, it hasn't followed my plan at all which means I have to rewrite the rest of my plan. Ah well, but I like it this way, I hope you do too :)Anyway, without telling you too much, if you want to see their reaction faster, REVIEW! Danke

Love, Ruby xx

DISCLAIMER: Still don't own any rights to Sherlock, but I can hope... :)

Sherlock regained his composure after realising who the victim was, and began to inspect the scene. The ceiling was dry along with the upper half of the walls, yet the floor was damp, along with the lower half of the walls. There was something in the corner of the room too, but thatcould wait until the body had been looked at. Still warm, fresh murder, no hair on the one hand, burn marks on the other, ligature marks on the neck, ankles and hands. Standard suit for a banker, but a dog tag round his neck reading 'Sherlock Holmes - The master of deduction. M'. No obvious cause of death, but a slight prick of a needle in the right foot indicated something had been injected. Next, the corner. The body of a Great Dane dog, with a tag reading 'Doctor John Watson - Loyal Companion until the very end. M'.

"Alright, Freak, time's up. What you got?" Sherlock looked up to John, but saw he wasn't as of yet in a fit state to deduce anything from the bodies. "Secondary crime scene, don't expect fingerprints or trace. The room has a theatrical sense to it, the body is placed deliberately. Cause of death was cardiac arrest caused by air injected directly into the bloodstream using a small syringe needle, most likely used on pets judging by the size of the prick on his ankle. The tags on both the bodies-"

"Sorry, both?" Sergeant Donovan looked at him in disbelief, and John looked like a deer in headlights thinking by second body, he meant Sarah.

"Both bodies, Seb and the dog in the corner, have tags on them. The one on Seb is aimed at mr, showing only the beginnings of what he'll put me through. The other is aimed at both John and me. Moriarty thinks it's quaint that I keep John as my 'pet', hence the dog tags and the dead dog."

"What do you mean 'the beginnings of what he'll put you through'?" At this point, John had recovered from his shock, which had now turned more to anger, "At the poolside, Moriarty said he would burn Sherlock. You can see faint burn marks on his left hand, and the hairs on the other have been singed off." he said, gesturing to the body.

"So this is Moriarty then?" Donovan asked.

"Undoubtedly, yes." said Sherlock matter-of-factly. "There is no sign of Sarah here John-" he was cut off by a faint sizzling noise coming from the edge of the room. That was when it clicked. The bottom half of the room was doused in an indistinguishable excellerant that was beginning to ignite under the fierce heat of the forensic lamps. "EVERYBODY OUT, THE ROOM'S A BOMB!" Sherlock yelled as people began to fly in all directions.

The next few seconds where a whirl of colour and frenzied screams as people ran out of the building. John. Where was John? He looked around him, eyes searching frantically for his lifeline, his one friend. The scene blew up with a monumental bang and fizzle. He still couldn't see John. "John... John! Where are you, John?" he said as he started to panic and raked his fingers back through his hair and he scoured the people around him.

It felt like an eternity before his phone vibrated in his pocket:

'All's fair in love and war - M'

This only served to fuel Sherlock's anger and frustration at being unableto find his friend. Paramedics were on the scene by now, he was starting to worry. He scanned the ambulances and found what he was looking for; "John!" he practically screamed.

"Sherlock, I thought you hadn't made it out! I got a text from Moriarty." he got out his phone and showed the text:

Your bark's worse than your bite, but with me, it's the other way round. M

John had had enough of being called a pet now, he was going to prove he was more than that. "I'm sorry about that. You're not a pet John, your a collegue. I need you to bounce my ideas off and, believe it or not, I find your imput useful." Sherlock always knew what to say to calm him down. "I've contacted Mycroft."

"Why? Are you feeling ok Sherlock?" asked John sarcastically.

"I need his imput, and his reach to keep us safe. I've asked him to locate Sarah." John's face fell, he'd forgotten about that. He was more focussed on the bomb and being patronised by a murderous consultant criminal. Sherlock looked at his phone and appeared relieved.

Sarah's in France on a family emergency, her sister's been in a hit and run. She says she apologises to both of you, especially John. I hope you're both ok, the manor's available if you need it, just say. I'm lookin into the rest.- Mycroft Holmes

"That was a lengthy text from your brother, you seem relieved too. It appears a little reassurance from older siblings can go a long way!" John mocked.

"Indeed. Sarah's in France, her sister's been in a hit and run and she apologises to you especially. Mycroft's offered the manor to us and anyone else who needs it, but I don't intend to take it yet."

The journey back to 221B was a quiet one other than "Mycroft's going to be there when we arrive." from Sherlock and a nod from John.

Sherlock was indeed right; they walked into the living room and Mycroft was standing in the centre. "Can't you stand outside and wait like normal people?" Sherlock said looking clearly irritated by his brother's prescence in their flat.

"Where would be the fun in that, little brother?" Mycroft replied with a slight smirk.

"Anyway, I have some important news for you." John was just about to go upstairs to his room, he didn't really want to be in the middle of a sibling spat, he'd had his fair share with Harry. "Both of you, please stay John. It's of the utmost importance that you both stay." John now understood Sherlock's problem with Mycroft, it was just something about him that was irritating, he just didn't know what. "Well I suppose I'm not able to throw you out. Take a seat Mycroft. You'll need to take the weight off..." Sherlock had to get a dig in early on, 'and so it begins' thought John. Mycroft appeared to ignore Sherlock's comment about his weight and continue, must be important. They all took a seat in the living room to listen to Mycroft. "I thought I'd come here in person," he began.

"I prefer to text." Sherlock retorted.

"I needed to come here in person, it's not something I can just text you Sherlock. I have to show you." He reached into his back pocket and bought out a thin piece of aged paper, about 30 years old to be precise. On the paper was a photo of a young John, but the photo was also covered in blood with the inscription 'Dear Pet, I hope gives you a clear on what I'm going to do to you. I will burn your master and leave you to bleed to death whilst you watch him die. Clear? M' 


	3. Chapter 3

The Chase

Chapter 3: Worthless in his eyes

Author's Note:This chapter's a bit more about Sherlock and Mycroft's relationship, kind of just a filler really with my take on why the brothers are the way they are. If you want the next one up soon, REVIEW! It really gets interesting in the next one...

Love, Ruby xx

DISCLAIMER: Sadly I still don't own anything... I've got series one on DVD though!

Silence fell into the room, an uncomfortable one too. Mycroft was clearly concerned for both parties in this, whereas John was just plain angry at this. Why was he only the pet? Just because he couldn't pull up someone's life history by their choice of jacket, or what they ate last week by the way they walked. Sherlock had said that John was useful to him, but was it only for company, like a pet, or did he really value his imput. Either way, Moriarty was beginning to get on his nerves. His thoughts drifted to Sarah. Was she safe? Could Moriarty get her? Was her sister ok? He got out his phone and sent her a quick text, he had to be sure.

Sherlock was even whiter than before, if that was even possible. The thought of his friend beig constantly demoralised by Moriarty and subsequently killed because of him was beyond words. He looked up to his brother, who was glancing between him and John. "Who's blood is it on the paper?" he asked, trying to keep his voice from wavering. "Ummm, it's a mixture. It has two donors." Mycroft paused as if to be entirely sure that they wanted to know, and to add emphasis. "It's both yours, Sherlock, and John's. Now I don't know-"

"Wait. Mine and his?" said John, who was clearly shaken by the whole ordeal. "Yes, ours John. He probably got it from when you donates blood last week and from when I was sleeping after I'd been in that fight with that ex-boxing criminal. He must've come into the flat, extracted what he needed, and left. I found no needle marks because my skin was already in a pretty bad state."

Both John and Mycroft visibly flinched at the memory of that one case. Sherlock had nearly been hospitalised after getting into a fight with an ex-boxing champion who, oddly enough, had just committed murder. John would've helped if her had actually known where Sherlock was, he'd gone out on his own saying he was 'going shopping' which aroused John's suspicions anyway, but when he didn't come back for over an hour, he got worried and went looking for him. After half an hour of searching he found him in a back street in quite a bloody mess sitting next to an unconscious man led on his stomach. He insisted Shelock see a doctor, but he refused saying that John was the only doctor he needed to see. The memory, still vivid, ran cold and clear through their minds.

"So what do you want to do, Sherlock?" Mycroft asked, his voice shaking slightly dispite te obvious effort to conceal it.

"Find him. Although we need to keep any of my asociates safe. John, Molly, Sarah, Harry. Anybody that could be used against me, I don't want them caught up in my mess." he said solemnly. John wasn't too sure whether to be touched that the detective cared for him, or angry that he didn't view it as a joint problem, it was aimed at both of them. "Sherlock, this is OUR mess. He's after me too you know? It's not just you that wants justice done."

"And that's why you need to stay safe. I any harm came to you because of me, I don't know what I'd do. There, I've said it!" Sherlock's statement shocked both the other men, but it didn't deter John.

"No Sherlock, he's making me just as much of a target as you, I can take care of myself, I've served in Afghanistan for Christ's sake!" Sherlock audiably groaned. The one person he cared for, his best friend, wanted to get himself killed. It was the pet thing that irritated him too. He turned to Mycroft, "I want YOU, and specifically YOU on this. I don't care about the leg work, I'll do that." He took the blood-soaked paper from his brother, and stared at it a while longer. "Right, this whole thing has been quite tiring to say the least. I'm going to bed. And I will show him I'm not a pet!" And with that, John left the brothers and went upstairs. They all knew he wasn't going to sleep tonight.

Sherlock looked up from the paper to see Mycroft staring at him intently. "What?" he snarled.

"He means a lot to you, doesn't he?" the elder replied in almost a whisper.

"He means enough for me to never want to lose him. NOT in any other way. He's a friend Mycroft, a good friend. Something you ought to invest in."

"Don't start that Sherlock. And I never implied anything, I mearly said that you care for him and he cares for you. What did you want done?"

"I want top security on the hospital, and wherever Molly goes, I want the same for Sarah and anyone that could be used to get at John. As for us, we'll be fine. He's not going to want to risk his life like that again. As long as we stay together I'm sure we'll be fine."

"All will be done by tomorrow, Sherlock." Mycroft said, with a hint of regret at his brother not wanting any security. He felt his brain click into 'overprotective older sibling' mode. He stood up and turned to leave, not uttering a word. Sherlock remained sat on the sofa, staring down at the paper again, he suddenly felt compelled to say something. "Thankyou." he said, his voice beginning to waver now as the shear scale of what bad just happened hit. Mycroft gave a nod of approval and left, leaving Sherlock alone with his thoughts.

When had all this started? This bond with John, the desire to protect him and everyone they knew. These 'feelings' really wore people down, he wondered how people coped in day-to-day life with their brain clouded with feelings. He felt like crying. He hadn't cried since his mother was murdered and Mycroft refused to do his end of the enquiry stating that she was dead, and what did it matter if he was right anyway. That was the beginning of the feud between the two.

"I've done my end, Mycroft. I've shown I'm right with my theory. Why can't you just prove yours?" he said, with his eyes blurry with tears, aged 11. "What difference does it make if I'm right Sherlock? You've proved you're right, so why are you asking me?" Mycroft spat back. "And anyway, catching the monster won't bring her back, will it?"

"I'm asking you to help me! I want to know if there's a possibility that there is more than one person here. And before you ask, I can't do that myself because you won't tell me what your take is!" he was practically screaming now.

"Just because my deductions are far more accurate and I'm faster that you, doesn't mean I'm going to help you hunt some asshole that killed our mother!" Mycroft had never said that he was better than Sherlock before, although, in some cases, he was right, and they boh knew it. "I should've known better than to ask my own brother to help." he said through the torrent of tears that now covered his face. From that moment on, the brothers had never been the same. Mycroft had ignored the existence of his brother, until he felt guilty and then offered to help him in every way possible; whereas Sherlock had cut himself off from the world, ignored 'feelings' and it soon became an art.

But now they needed to work together, with John, to prevent the consulting criminal from harming more innocent people. 


	4. Chapter 4

The Chase

Chapter 4: The Chase Is On

Author's Note: Firstly, I think I need to make a small, ok big, apology for my appalling spelling and grammar in the past few chapters; I don't really have the opportunity to check them as I have to type the whole thing up on my phone as my laptop is dead, hence this isn't in bold and I can't use italics, trust me, it annoys me too :/ Thanks for your reviews though, I just thought I'd offer the petty excuse of a broken heart due to a dead laptop :P Anyway, I'm not making any excuses for spelling Lestrade's name wrong, I have read the books, no excuses! I'll shut up now and let you get on with reading...

Love, Ruby xx

DISCLAIMER: Still own nothing, credit goes to the masters themselves...

John didn't sleep last night, it was obvious from the dark circles under his eyes, and the slow lethargic movements. By morning, Sherlock had reassembled his perfect facade and looked quizzically at John. "Did you know that coke would be green if they didn't add the colouring?" he said, trying to break the silence.

"No, no, I didnt, thankyou for that fascinating fact!" John replied, chuckling. "How do you know that? Actually, wait, don't answer that!" he said as they both burst out laughing. The atmosphere was still think, but at least the tension was gone.

"Where do we start?" John asked as he walked over to the sofa and sat next to Sherlock. "I don't know. Mycroft's sorted security, so everybody's safe. But I presume WE should sit and wait. Moriarty is bound to contact us in some way again." John nodded in agreement and got up to make two cups of tea seeing as neither one had slept a wink. Sherlock's phone buzzed on the coffee table, the detective extended his long arm to check the message, no doubt from Moriarty:

How much is that doggy in the window... I do hope that doggy's for sale. M

Sherlock groaned and threw his phone back down. His mind still dwelling on that paper given to him by Mycroft. He ran through his deductions one last time. Paper: 30 years old, white with no watermarks; photo: John, aged 5 at the beach holding a ice cream, smiling at the camera. Ink: standard black from an inkjet printer, no identifying marks so wither a new,well used or looked after printer; blood: His and John's, put on the paper using a needle, probably the same one used to extract the blood; message: written by a woman in his early 30s in a blue italic fountain pen, the same one found on the envelope containing the pink phone; DNA: none other than the blood; fingerprints: none; cryptic codes: none. He drew a blank again with no idea of Moriarty's next move.

As John filled the kettle to make the tea, he looked at his phone:

334 Regent Street. Let's see what you've got, pet. M

Should he tell Sherlock, should he not?

Tell your master about it, go on... M

That answered his question. Moriarty wanted John to prove himself, this was his chance to show he wasn't some pet.

"Where are you going?" Sherlock asked as John handed him his tea and made his way towards the door. "Shopping, we're, errr, out of tea." he answered as he went out the door. That was weird, John had only bought tea the other day... Either they were drinking a lot of tea, or John was lieing. He put money on the latter and made a mental note to check on him later.

Keep an eye on John, he's gone out alone.- SH

That should sort that, at least wherever he went he would be safe thanks to Mycroft's fenomenal reach.

Can't track his phone. Why is he alone? - Mycroft Holmes

Shit, not looking good. John wouldn't do anything irrational would he?

"334 Regent Street please." he said as he got into the taxi. He knew Sherlock would get Mycroft to track his phone, so he turned it off. He had to do this alone, he was sick and tired of being called a pet. Of course, there was always the possibility that this was a trap, but Sherlock always willingly walked into traps set by people, so why couldn't he? What was the difference? It would give Sherlock a bit of a taste of his own medicine too.

Upon arriving at the address, John was greeted with a tall, dark terraced house. He walked up to the door and pushed it; the door creaked open. The inside was much like the inside of 221B. He walked around, looking in every room for evidence that some sort of crime had been committed in the seemingly derelict house. John began the ascent of the stairs, finding nothing out of the ordinary other than the odd creaky floorboard, just like 221B. He reached the top of the house, the area where his room was back at the flat. He tentatively pushed the door open and was met by a wall of intoxicating fumes, which he quickly decided was the potent smell of ammonia gas. Covering his nose and mouth with his hand, he started to look around the room. It was set out just the same as his, same bed in the same place, photo's in the same place at the same angle. He looked closer at one, it was the same photo that had been sent to Mycroft, but this one was in pristine condition. He removed it from the frame and looked at the back of the photo and read the message;

Didn't think you'd tell your master, show me what you've got! Such a loyal doggy, such a shame you'll follow your master to the death! M

John's face flushed with anger, now where was this crime? Ok, think. The house is clearly modelled to look eerily like 221B, so what's different? Nothing jumped out. He knelt down to look under the bed where he found an old dog toy, one that looked just like the one he had as a child but with a note tied around the neck:

Well done, sniffed this one out nicely didn't we? Don't worry, the rest isn't quite so easy. 'Roses are red, violets are blue. Bloodhounds are trained to sniff out these clues.' M

John stood up, toy in hand. He'd got used to the smell by now, so he took out a notepad and pen. Being a doctor, he always had on handy. He took note's on the room, photo's of anything that seemed of importance and taking with him the photo and frame and the toy, he turned and left heading straight to the lab where Sherlock did his analysis. 


	5. Chapter 5

The Chase

Chapter 5: Gone with the Wind

Author's Note: I'm sorry to say that here most likely won't be a chapter tomorrow as I'm quite busy over the next few days; I'll leave you on this cliff-hanger instead :P Enjoy!

Love, Ruby xx

DISCLAIMER: I have a new suit, but still no Sherlock...

John had been gone for almost two hours now, it was becoming more concerning by the minute; coupled with the inability to trace John's phone, Sherlock was getting very worried about his only friend and companion.

John had swabbed everything he'd bought with him from the scene. He found no fingerprints on anything, the writing was typed and no imperfections in the ink, so that was a dead end also. There was, however, some sort of colourless chemical that doused the toy dog. He was currently trying to find a match for it. Trying to keep up with Moriarty was indeed a massive job, but he'd prove he was worthy, and not just some brilliantly clever man's pet.

With that thought, his mind turned to Sherlock. He's probably be led to the sofa now in complete silence, eyes closed, palms together across his chest just below his chin; his thinking pose. John smiled at the thought, but the smile soon faded when he realised that the detective was probably thinking about where he was, if he was alright, and why he hadn't come back. He couldn't go back, not until this analysis was finished. It was still early in the day though, so he was sure he'd be home by dark. Sherlock would be ok with it, it wasn't as if Sherlock didn't disappear for hours on end anyway.

John was jarred from his thoughts as the computer situated next to him beeped. 'AMMONIUM NITRATE' flashed up on the screen. The ex soldier was sure that was a bomb component. He quickly googled any ammonium nitrate suppliers within a five mile radius of the scene location; there was one hit. That couldn't be a coincidence. Moriarty planned him to find this; this was just the next step. He'd have to move a lot faster though if he was going to get ahead of Moriarty. 'CC's Chemical Supplies' it is then, he thought.

He spent the next hour researching the company; it seemed pretty genuine to him. All of the account records matched, no hollows or flaws in the accounts. Either this was a genuine business or someone was doing a very good job at covering their tracks. John had worked with Sherlock for long enough to know not to rule out one or the other. And with that, John grabbed his evidence, left the lab, and headed for the company he'd found.

Sherlock had taken to badgering Mycroft for amusement and distraction since John had been gone for nearly four hours now. A battle of wits had shortly ensued, ending after an hour with 'Most people are more likely to get run over by a donkey than die in a plane crash, Mycroft. But in your case, I'd probably put money on the plane crash... It'd fall out of the sky, and that's if it even left the ground in the first place. - SH' . However much he liked to bully his brother, the young detective couldn't help but worry for his flatmate. Moriarty was out there; there was no point going out and looking for him, the chances of finding him in London were one in ten thousand, he was more likely to see John if he waited at the flat. He'd turn his phone on to check his texts soon anyway, then he'd go and find him.

Upon arriving at CC's Chemical Supplies, John was greeted by a friendly looking woman behind a white counter. "May I help you, Sir?" she asked. She was clad in a white lab coat, in a white room, behind a white desk. It all seemed a little fishy to him. "Yes actually. I'm John Watson, I work with the police. I'm here to ask about your sales records." he said calmly and smoothly; Sherlock had taught him to lie well, he was torn on whether that was a good or bad thing.

"Oh, ok. Ummm, right this way." the woman said as she turned and led John into what looked like an office space. The woman was biting her lip and wringing her hands a lot, if John didn't know any better he'd say the woman was conceiling something, and extremely nervous. But of course, he knew better. "I'd like to know if you've sold any ammonium nitrate within the last three months please." Three months seemed like a reasonable time span.

"We've only had one, Dr Watson. That was a-"

"How did you know I was a doctor?" John interrupted, there was definately something going on here.

"You told me when you introduced yourself as Doctor John Waston." the woman replied hastily.

"No I didn't, I only told you my first and last name, not that I was a doctor. How did you know?"

"I don't think we should discuss this any further, Doctor." said the woman as she got up from her seat, dashing past John.

Suddenly John heard a clunking noise, something that sounded a little like a lock being shut. Oh no! That was a lock. He'd walked right into Moriarty's hands and was now shut in a small office. Of course, the computer had to be turned off and the wire cut, no power at the plug. Great, just great.

He was sitting in a chair, facing the locked door, his only way out. He'd tried to pick the lock, but failed; he also tried to kick it down, but that also yielded no result. Staring at the door also wasn going to help, but he had nothing else to do.

He heard the lock being turned again and got up. A large man walked in with a cloth in his hand, quickly smothering John's mouth and nose with it, knocking him unconscious with chloroform.

John woke up to find himself tied to a white wooden chair in the middle of a white room.

He sat there a while, wondering if his captor would come to see him; no such luck. He began to loosen his bonds whilst thinking that this was all a little too easy. He stood up, joints creaking. He must have been out quite a while. There was a door to the left of the room, John pushed it. Open, now this really was too easy. He stepped outside into the rain. It was dark by now. He really had been out for a long time.

He reached into his pocket and turned his phone on. TWO DAYS? He'd been there for two days? Wow, Sherlock must be horrified. He needed to get to Baker Street ASAP. No money for a cab; damn.

He began the long walk back home. That was when he heard it. Someone jumped off a roof behind him and was running at him. All he could see was this domineering black figure charging at him. His face went pale, he turned and ran.

Running, that's what he was doing. Trying to put as much distance between himself and the murderous madman chasing him, he really should've told Sherlock about this. Now he was running alone through the streets of London, not knowing where he was. His breathing was uneven and frantic, all because he wanted to prove to Moriarty that he wasn't Sherlock's pet. The dark night made every side street seem eternal and the main streets only illuminated by the solemn street lamps. The chaser was gaining ground, hunting him down like an advanced predator. John could here his heart thundering erratically through his chest; he'd taken a wrong turn to a dead end and there was no going back now... 


	6. Chapter 6

The Chase

Chapter 6: Run Rabbit, Run.

Author's Note: A little shorter this time as I was really strapped for time and well, yeah. I hope you enjoy this one, the story's nearly coming to an end now... If you like it, please REVIEW! I accept anonymous reviews so anyone can review!

Love, Ruby xx

DISCLAIMER: Still no...

Two days; two whole days and no John. He was tearing his hair out, lost count of the amount of time's he'd bugged Mycroft of Lestrade about his location. Sherlock still thought his best chance of finding John was to stay at home. He had no chance of finding him in London in the dark anyway.

Found phone. 223 Holloway Avenue, moving. He's running. - Mycroft Holmes

He'd found John! But he was running; running from what? And what on earth was he doing in that area of London? That was well know for it's street crime and high mortality rate due to murder. He needed to get him NOW. he wasted no time at all in getting his coat on. He was out the door in a flash...

Hold on, I'm coming - SH

"223 Holloway Avenue. As fast as you can. This is an emergency." Sherlock said as he jumped into the nearest cab.

Run rabbit, run rabbit, run, run, run. - M

John was really in some trouble now.

John looked around him frantically searching for an escape route, a ladder, anything. His phone lit up;

Hold on, I'm coming - SH

God, he could not get here soon enough.

The black figure closed in on the smaller man, a blade shone in the dim lit ally way. "Hello Pet." said a low voice. Moriarty hadn't even come himself, that was disappointing. John's heart was in his throat as the man raised the knife above his head.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you." bellowed an all too familiar baritone voice from above his head. Trust Sherlock to be standing on the roof of the two storey building behind him. He smiled at the thought before quickly remembering that there was a knife in the hands of the person infront of him.

"Ahhhh. Welcome to the show, Mr Holmes."

Now that voice was familiar to John, the one that taunted his dreams. Moriarty.

"I only hope you'll stay for the finale." he chuckled.

"I don't intend to stay that long." quipped the detective.

The rain poured down and the wind blew hard whipping through Sherlock's curly hair and coat, soaking him through and John too.

What happened next, John only heard, he didn't see. A crash, a wail, and what sounded like a knot being tied by some rope. The next thing he saw was his flatmate tied up and wood being stacked below him. He remembered the message on the paper sent to Mycroft:

'Dear Pet, I hope gives you a clear on what I'm going to do to you. I will burn your master and leave you to bleed to death whilst you watch him die. Clear? M'

This could not be happening. 


	7. Chapter 7

The Chase

Chapter 7: Prophecy

Author's Note: Last chapter! Well, that is if you don't ask for more! Any ideas for stories that you want written or anything like that are welcome; I might have another story in mind, not too sure yet! Drop us a review, would ya;)? Anyways, thank you to all of you that have reviewed, alerted and all that jazz; I really appreciate it! Enjoy the last chapter :')!.

Love, Ruby xx

DISCAIMER: Don't own anything but the packet of chocolate biscuits sitting next to me :P

'Dear Pet, I hope gives you a clear on what I'm going to do to you. I will burn your master and leave you to bleed to death whilst you watch him die. Clear? M'

This could not be happening.

A small glow appeared at the wood beneath Shelock's body. He was squirming, desperately trying to get away from the rising heat. Moriarty's evil cackle pierced the night air.

The ice cold rain hit John and ran down his face, swallowing his tears in the process. He'd walked into this, bought no only himself to his death, but his companion too. A sharp burning sensation in John's abdomen pulled John from his thoughts as the fire began to leap at Sherlock's feet. A nice stab to the side, thanks for that.

The rest was a blur for both men. Screams of pain and gun shots rang out down the secluded alleyway.

"John, John." he faintly heard as a large man ran over to him and placed pressure on his knife wound in an attempt to stem the blood flow. "I need a helicopter now. My brother and John go to the manor. The medical care's better there."

Mycroft you brilliant man.

"What are you waiting for? Move!"

He was clearly scared, just like him. He heard the faint rumble of a helicopter arrive, followed by a pained scream. All went black.

•

The searing heat was rising, getting closer and closer to my skin. I saw John stabbed by that beast, it was just as the note said; I expected no different, but I had to come to save John, he was all I had. The air was suddenly filled with shots and people swarmed around me, putting the flames around my ankles out. My brother rushed to John's side and tried to help him, but John was already out cold.

I was untied and tried to walk but collapsed due to the intense pain from the burns on my ankles. I had to get to John but I wasn't given the chance, I was bundled into the helicopter that had just arrived, quickly followed by John on a stretcher and Mycroft. I felt a light prick in the side of my neck; I'd been injected with some sort of sedative-painkiller cocktail. I didn't last long before I collapsed into my brother's lap.

•

I awoke to the faint sound of the heart monitors, one belonging to me, the other hooked up to Sherlock. I tried to sit up but was quickly discouraged by the slight pulling in my side that told me if I moved, the wound would split open again. "John." he croaked. the heat from the fire had probably burnt his lungs, making it hard for him to breathe, and even harder for him to speak.

"Shhh, I'm fine Sherlock; look, I'm here!" I said as I reached over and put a hand on his shoulder.

We were clearly in the manor, it was unlike any hospital I'd ever been in. That reminded me, where was Mycroft?

"Hello John," speak of the devil..."I trust you know where you are, and the extent of your injuries. I tracked your phone. You're very lucky you turned it on, or this could be a rather different picture." This I knew all too well. "As for you, dear brother, I hope that in the future you'll understand what you mean to me, and clearly to John. Purely platonic it may be, but you need to understand you can't do this to us. I nearly lost you. That's not something I intend to do again." the detective made like he was going to comment but was silenced by a soft embrace from his brother. This feud was on the mend, I thought, but they've got a he'll of a long way to go.

As for me, I'll never be called a pet again, that bastard is dead. And if I am; well, I'd rather be Sherlock's pet than anybody else's. 


End file.
